SweetHarts (5 Book Box Set)

by Kira Graham

  “This isn’t a surprise, honey. Remember, we discussed the possibility of multiples,” the doctor says gently, smiling when I groan and close my eyes.

  “You said that it was a possibility, not a given. God, four kids in there. No wonder I feel like I could eat another human,” I say huskily, a hysterical giggle leaving me when I think about how Sin’s going to react.

  I’m just gestating these babies; she has to feed, diaper, and care for them all. Forever!

  “That’s completely normal—why are you laughing that way?” Doc Payne asks, her brow furrowed as I burst out cackling and go for gold, not stopping until Ares has tried to calm me down, begun laughing himself, and then eventually grabbed my shoulders and given me a little shake while looking at me worriedly.

  “Baby—”

  “Sor-sorry, I just—oh God, you’re all looking at me like I’m going to be the problem? But Sin…” I wheeze, laughing harder when the two of them exchange a look and then bust up.

  Oh, hell. This may just be worth it to see the look on her face.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tee

  “I got a dirty mind, I got filthy ways, I’m tryina blah, blah, blah, in your milky way. I’m a legend, I’m irreverent…I’ll be something, I’ll be so far u-u-u-u-up, we don’t give a fu-u-udge! Welcome to the danger zone, step into the fantasy, you are not invited to the other side of sanity, they’re callin’ me an alien, a big-headed astronaut, that’s because…”

  I chortle as I watch Cleo dancing around the hospital room, her gut held between her hands as she waddle-shuffles and grinds her hips, all to Brent’s horror and my delight. It’s as amusing as heck, and enough to keep us all entertained, even me, who…yeah, let’s just say that my hysterical gratification only lasted about two seconds, because Sin, that sadistic troll, didn’t react the way that I thought she would to the news that she was having four babies. Not after Paris, that traitor, announced to her that she’d have four nannies because he couldn’t imagine his booboo bear killing herself looking after them all.

  Bubble popped. Those rich bastards.

  “Isn’t that dangerous in her condition?” Brent asks in a whisper, as we watch Cleo half-squat and do her version of twerking.

  I may need new eyeballs now, but it’s worth it when she struggles to rise and accomplishes it only with a strained huff.

  “Her doctor said that she has to work out, and that ‘dancercise’ is probably the safest, considering,” I say, giggling when he grunts and shoots his eyebrows up.

  “Considering what?” he mutters, giving Cleo a sickly smile when she waddles by him, oblivious to our…trauma.

  “Considering that she used to do yoga with Alex, but that ever since Alex inherited Chilli’s clumsiness, no one is safe around her. I think that Honey, Connie, and Hope all go over there to make sure that poor Sethie and Axel are safe. You know that she tripped over air yesterday? I’d have laughed, but she almost fell down the stairs. Chilli’s going to start working from home until this baby is popped,” I say matter-of-factly, smiling when Brent shakes his head.

  Brent, while doing much better, is still weak and underweight from months in a coma, and he has to work on his muscle tone before he’s anywhere near ready to leave the hospital. But thanks to Uncle Jack, who doesn’t believe in cutting corners, the guy has the presidential suite and enough therapists on rotation to ensure that he gets there.

  Me, I’m just happy that he woke up, though I feel for the guy, because not only has his ex not brought his kid in to see him, but the woman has also apparently just up and moved to another state, as if his condition means nothing. So I’m going to make it my life’s mission to find her, get that kid back to her dad, and then—well, I know how to keep a secret, and where the ground is soft enough for digging. ’Nuff said.

  “Probably be safer, unless he’s still…?”

  “Nah, man. He’s as graceful as a freaking ballerina nowadays, and Al is having conniptions about it. Last week, he went surfing, and it was…well, let’s just say that I didn’t know that a guy who’d never surfed before could be that awesome on a board,” I murmur, watching Cleo make another pass to the beat of…

  I can’t quite hear the music through her headphones, but I swear that the bump and grind is “Despacito.”

  “That’s great,” Brent says, but it doesn’t sound sincere, and I’m guessing that talking about someone in great health to a man who can barely take ten steps without wanting to collapse, isn’t all that tactful.

  But come on—this is me.

  “Don’t sound so happy about it, man. What’s up, you feeling raw about your inability to walk upright and bone the good doctor?” I taunt, giggling when he flushes.

  Ever since Brent woke up, he’s had this otherworldly fascination with Beau. Not a good idea, because I’m almost certain that Heath can—and will—shoot him if he makes any moves on his “Huggybear.” Really, he actually calls her that. And laughs when she tries to pepper-spray him.

  I swear to God, they make my and Ares’ foreplay look like romance.

  “She’s my doc. Don’t be a bitch,” he grumbles, a chortle leaving him when Cleo dances by, doing some strange back-and-forth movement with her belly.

  Gross.

  “Come on, you know me, Brent, I was born a bitch,” I say with a smile, ignoring the twinge I feel when I think about what I learned from eavesdropping on Nate and Ares.

  It wasn’t all that great to learn that my parents were drug-addicted child abusers, but since I feel nothing for those monsters, and I love my family, I’m doing okay with hating them so much that I would kill them myself.

  “You were born a troublemaker, Tee Sweet. Leave this alone. Do I like Beau? Sure. Am I gonna do more than drool when I look at her? No,” he says solemnly, and with so much sadness that I feel a small ache inside me.

  This poor man is so broken right now that I don’t know what to do for him except be here so that he isn’t alone. To be honest, I never thought that Brent would wake up, and it’s basically a miracle that he did at all, because according to Beau, she didn’t do a damn thing; it just happened. We can’t explain it, but I’m grateful to her nonetheless, because something changed in Brent once she showed up, enough for him to keep fighting.

  “That’s probably best, since I suspect that Heath bones her in her office at least twice a day,” I say ruefully, giggling when Brent curses.

  “I shoulda shot that asshole the day we met.”

  “You love him. Admit it. He’s like your best buddy,” I remind him, liking that he doesn’t deny it. “There are other fish—”

  “Babe, do me a solid, and don’t give me those trite little speeches, ’kay? I’ve heard them all from Rosie, and I don’t need to hear them again. I’m messed up, and I’m probably going to have to work my ass off to get better. And to make it all so much better, I can’t go back to the force thanks to my leg injury, even after it is fully healed.”

  Yeah. Remind me again to write to the government and tell them what assholes they are. Men and women serve us and our country every day, but when they reach their expiration date, they cease to exist to Uncle Sam. If I were a little crazier, I would totally take a few tons of fertilizer and shove it up their asses. With a detonator.

  “Yeah, well, you are healing, Brent, and before you know it, you’ll be out of here and living again,” I say sternly, wanting him to stop feeling sorry for himself. “You’re damn lucky you lived, boy, and even luckier that you woke up with all your vegetables in that soup you got for a brain.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I’m serious. For a long time, we all thought that you were toast, and then, when you woke up…just do me a favor, okay? Don’t concentrate on what’s gone; focus on what isn’t. You’re going to get healthy again, and you aren’t a schmuck. You can get another job, something a hell of a lot more rewarding than working for the city and making no money.”

  “My ex took my kid,” he says hoarsely, and now I do
swallow through the lump in my throat, because I know that if it were me, I’d be devastated.

  “Don’t you worry about that, honey. She’ll be back here with you before you can wipe those pussy tears off your cheeks,” I grunt, smiling when he snorts and sniffs loudly.

  “Miss her. Missed so much while I was out,” he says, his voice a husky rasp. “I just don’t want to lose her, too.”

  “Then don’t. Get your ass up, get moving as fast as you can, and then—look, there’s a lot you can do. You got skills. I heard that Grange is always recruiting for his teams. Take him up on that offer of being a techie on the team. You get to stay in the office and still do what you love. And the money isn’t bad, either,” I say seriously, my words dying when a nurse walks in and bends down to check his chart.

  When Brent eyes her up and down, his expression shell-shocked, I feel a grin pull at my lips until he starts to speak.

  “What is that scent you’re wearing?” he asks huskily, sounding so dazed that I almost feel sorry for him.

  Man’s got zero game.

  The nurse straightens up and flushes, and damn if the shy look on her face isn’t all kinds of transparent in its need. I know her. I think her name is Sophia, and if I’m right, I think that she’s been working with him since the very start.

  “Magnolia. Is it too strong?” she asks, the words a whispered croak that makes my buddy swallow nervously.

  “It’s nice.”

  Well, then. I’m thinking that maybe he’ll get off his ass sooner rather than later. I don’t even like clam, but for this hot little brunette…

  ********************************************************************

  “I said no,” I mutter, rolling my eyes when Cleo sniffles and gives me her sad puppy dog look with a lip tremble thrown in for shits and giggles.

  “Please? This is the last one. I promise,” she says solemnly, her hand over her heart as if that alone is enough to convince me that she’s telling the truth.

  We all know that she’s lying her ass off, and not because her left eye keeps squinting, but because this is Cleo. Trying to sabotage another wedding that she’s been putting together. A classy one. The one that I would bet is Adonis’s dream wedding.

  It’s so perfect that I would walk down that aisle, and that just isn’t me. And yet, here we are. I’ve lost count of how many weddings that Cleo has planned in the last year and some months. So many, in fact, that this last wedding planner is the only person who would take her call. And now she’s hankering to ruin that. I don’t want to burst her bubble, and I won’t, because I love having this secret, but Adonis is planning that trash-fest of a dream wedding that she was whining about a few months ago, so messing with this one isn’t going to make one bit of difference. That man is intent on marrying his woman before that baby pops out of her, one way or another.

  “I don’t wanna. I promised Honey that I wouldn’t help you anymore,” I grouch, grimacing as I lean back on the couch and take a gander at my feet.

  They look like two overstuffed sausages, and my toes are hideous. If I’d realized that I was going to turn into a water balloon, I would never have signed up for this. Thank God that all this…whatever it is, seems to turn Ares on instead of putting him off. I haven’t had this much sex in—well, ever. But it’s all good. Now all I have to do is decide if the sex is enough for what I’ve been thinking. What, like I’m not allowed to want to get married?

  Yeah, I know that I said I wasn’t ever going to, but a girl can change her mind, okay?

  “And breaking that promise makes you feel guilty?”

  “Hell, no. That old crone keeps coming into my room to stare at me at night. The only reason that I haven’t cut her yet is the way that Ares reacts when he wakes up and sees her. That shit is funnier every single time,” I chortle, holding my belly as I laugh and try to hold in the pee.

  I’d never heard a man scream in that high-pitched of a tone before, but it’s hilarious. One time, he didn’t even scream because it was trapped in his throat. All he did, when Grange wrestled Honey out, was flop back down and wheeze for a good ten minutes. Fuuuunny!

  “So, you aren’t keeping your praise for her, then?”

  “Are you deaf, Cleo? I said no. I just don’t want to help you. Be realistic here. You look like a cow right now, you’re about as flexible as a sheet of granite, and you toot by accident if you move too fast. I look like a damn whale, my vagina feels like it’s going to bust open if I stand up for too long, and a stiff wind across my boobs makes me cry like a baby,” I say softly, frowning because it’s true. Dammit.

  “But this is the last one! It’s for my scrapbook.”

  “No. Now shut up—I’m trying to watch Housewives,” I growl.

  “Nefertiti!”

  “No! Now shut the hell up! Uncle Jack!” I screech from the couch, biting my lip when he comes running from his office, a panicked look on his face.

  “What is it, Buggybear? Are you in pain? Does Papa Jack need to take you to the hospital? I have the bag packed and the route mapped,” he assures me, his enthusiasm to beat Ares at this so amusing that I giggle as I shake my head.

  “No, Uncle Jack. I’m good, though if you’re up, I could use some more ice cream. And some help with this animal beside me. She wants us to sneak out, in our condition, walk two miles to the bus, go to the church, and put expired meat behind the air vents so that Honey will have to call off this wedding.”

  “Why, Cleotapra Sweet! That’s just plain awful, darlin’. I can’t believe that you’d plan something so terrible. Don’t be silly. You can’t possibly do that in your condition. Let Daddy drive y’all!” he croons, so happily that I groan and roll my eyes.

  When he grabs his keys and practically bounces on his toes, I know that I’ve been beaten. Darn it.

  “If I go into early labor because of you, I’m telling Sin,” I warn, huffing as I try to rise to my feet, only to flop back onto the couch.

  I’m worse than useless at the moment, and so tired that I feel like I could sleep for hours. Sometimes, I wake up so full of pep that I have to listen to Ares lecture me to death about taking it easy, and then at other times, I sleep like a sloth and stay on the couch for as long as I can. I’m still working, which thankfully breaks up most of the day for me, but the hours are significantly fewer lately, as my colleagues take over more and more patients so that I can rest. This four babies thing is no joke.

  “Oh, pooh—just come on. You can stay in the car, and Daddy’ll buy you an ice cream on the way. Please? Adonis is planning something, I can just tell, and if I don’t nip this wedding in the bud now, I’m going to have to bite the bullet,” she complains, missing the way that both my and Jack’s lips twitch.

  “Help me up. God help me, I’m going to get lectured to kingdom come if that beast finds out that I’m not obeying his heavy-handed orders,” I grumble, liking the thought a lot.

  What? It’s not like I won’t get a lecture anyway, so I may as well do something to earn it this time. Ares is a great guy, he’s awesome in bed, and I swear I could die happy just knowing the things that we’ve done to each other, but he’s also a terrible stick-in-the-mud.

  Tee, don’t stand on that stepladder; it’s dangerous.

  You can’t jump on the couch, even if the dog is trying to bite you.

  You shouldn’t be eating hot sauce out of the bottle.

  This pregnancy book says that gas is natural.

  The list goes on and on, and I would happily rip his tongue out if I didn’t like the darn thing so much.

  I eventually get off the couch with a lot of help from Uncle Jack and follow them outside to the car, where he straps me in the back, stuffs a pillow behind the small of my back to make me comfortable, and then seats Cleo.

  All too soon, we’re driving off the estate and joining traffic, the motion of the car lulling me so that I lean my head back and snooze. With Uncle Jack, I’m completely at ease, and I feel as safe as if Ares or one of the
guys were driving us, though I do note that there’s a black SUV behind us, just in case.

  “Ice cream,” I croak sleepily when I see a store coming up, my mutinous glare when Cleo tries to wave it off turning homicidal until Jack pulls in to the drive-through window and orders what I want.

  I intend to stay in the car and eat to my heart’s content to keep these demon babies happy, but once we reach the church, Cleo just won’t stop until I get out and waddle in with her.

  There are one or two people inside, a nun sitting in one of the front pews, and Father Jameson, who grimaces when he sees us walk in, his head dropping as if he’s losing all hope.

  “Go tell him that you wanna confess,” Cleo whispers, giggling when I groan and throw my hands up.

  “Cleo.”

  “Please? There are people here, and that new guy Timmons is at the door, watching. Just keep him distracted long enough for me and Dad to scatter the goods,” she begs, the look in her eyes so pleading that I sigh loudly and throw my hands up with a grunt.

  “Fine. Just hurry,” I grouch, waddling to the confessional with more than a little trepidation.

  Once, I lied when I was in there, and for a solid month, I kept getting breakouts, the likes of which made the seven plagues look like a small beauty problem, so if I’m going in there, I’m telling the truth, so help me God. It doesn’t help that the priest hates me. Fall asleep in church once—I tell ya. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that I was totally having a wet dream at the time.

  “Miss Sweet. I trust you’re feeling well today,” Father Jameson says by way of greeting, when we’re both seated and he’s slid back the window.

  “A little gassy, to be honest, but I bet it’s all the ice cream,” I say honestly, grinning when he groans.

  “Let’s begin, then.”

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…” I say, reciting the usual crap in a monotone and then waiting for him to do his part before I start to talk.